Blessed in War
by miss.ouiser
Summary: Cora tries to talk to Edith, and things do not go well. Set at the end of 5.7. My very first fic, which I hope is not as rubbish as this summary. May be one-shot, may not. Have many things in my head. All characters etc belong to J Fellowes etc. I own nothing. Reviews most welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Blessed in War

Cora paused outside the door, listening to the hum of a familiar lullaby, the sounds of a mother soothing her child. She smiled, then knocked softly.

"Come in." The invitation was quietly given, almost a whisper. Cora gingerly opened the door and looked upon the scene inside.

Edith sat in a rocking chair holding Marigold, the light from the fireplace reflecting off the apricot colored walls, bathing the room is a soft, golden glow. Marigold was snuggled up against her mother, clutching her Teddy bear, eyes closed in a fretful sleep. Cora noted with dismay the tearstains on her cheeks.

"She couldn't settle, poor darling," Edith whispered, almost apologetically. She caressed the toddler's downy curls, rocking her gently. "I can understand why, the way I've upended her world. She must be so confused…" Was that guilt in her voice? Remorse? Cora gazed at her daughter's face, saw her lip tremble, the uncertainty in her eyes. "I told Nanny I would keep her here with me. Just until…" Edith's voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. She hugged Marigold a little tighter.

Cora hesitated, unsure of how to give voice to the troubling thought in her head. "You don't regret bringing Marigold here, do you?" She wished the words back immediately.

Edith's reaction was swift, defensive, accusatory. "Of course I don't! How can you say such a thing? Perhaps you're having second thought about her being here? Maybe…" She stopped abruptly as the baby in her arms whimpered. Edith realized her hold on Marigold had tightened considerably – she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

As did Cora. Why? She asked herself for what seemed like the thousandth time. Why was every question to her middle daughter met as a challenge? Why did she act like every conversation was an inquisition? Did Edith truly believe that there was some veiled agenda behind her mother's words? Cora couldn't quite manage to block the exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry, Mama. That was unkind. You've been so very good to me and Marigold, and I want you to know how grateful I am. I'm…I guess I'm more tired than I thought. Please forgive me."

Cora recognized the polite dismissal, and was having none of it. She didn't want a showdown, but she had had more than enough of secrecy and evasions and condescension recently. From Edith, from Rosamund. Violet and Robert. Even Baxter and Barrow. And Mary wore her superiority like a badge of honor. Enough. No more.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you give me a chance to help you? Why?" The questions continued unabated. Cora was only vaguely aware of Edith's expression, of the walls being put up. "Was I not to be trusted? Did you think I would turn my back on you, my own daughter?"

Edith stared steadily at her mother and answered, "Yes".

Cora was dumbstruck, the injustice of the indictment resonating throughout her body. Whatever response she had been expecting, that was not it. A hundred angry retorts scrambled in formation on her tongue, ready to be launched into battle.

She stopped short as she caught sight of Marigold. Yes, she would do battle with Edith, but her grand-daughter would not be caught in the crossfire.

"I think you're right; you are very tired. Get some sleep. We'll continue this tomorrow." Cora rose from the bed and made her way to the door, pausing at the threshold. She turned. "And Edith? Don't think I'll forget. We _will_ discuss this tomorrow."

"M'lady?"

Baxter stood behind Cora at the dressing table, hairbrush raised in mid-stroke. Cora realized she hadn't been listening to a single word her maid had said. "Is everything all right, m'lady?" Baxter asked again.

Cora put on a tired smile and played the distracted card. "Oh, yes. Golly, what a night!"

"Yes, m'lady, the servants' hall was full of talk of it. We all feel quite bad for Mrs. Crawley, to be put down like that." Baxter had been asking about a frock for tomorrow, but played along with her mistress. Something was apparently on her mind and, although not usually prone to gossip, Baxter seized the most obvious thing she could. "We all hope she and Lord Merton work it out."

Cora began applying lotion to her elbows with a distracted vengeance. "Yes, well, how a gentleman like Dickie Merton managed to raise a total _schmuck_ of a son like Larry I'll never understand," she muttered, more to herself than her maid. "When I think…" she broke off at the look of confusion on Baxter's face.

" _Schmuck_ , milady?"

"Just something my father used to say. Thank you, Baxter. That will be all."

Cora waited until the door had closed, then dropped her head into her hands. After a moment, she lifted her face and caught her tear-filled reflection in the mirror.

"Something else my father used to say. ' _Gam zu l'tova_. This too is for the good.'" Cora allowed herself a small smile. This would work out – Edith, Marigold, everything. It would work out for the good. She would make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!_

As it happened, Cora and Edith almost did not have the promised conversation the next day. Events transpired to delay it until the evening. And perhaps that was not a bad thing, as it gave Cora greater time to think, and to assuage her anger and hurt. She could not be on the defensive; Edith would be defensive enough for them both.

Edith received a telephone call from one of her editors at _The Sketch_ during breakfast, insisting that she catch the next train to London. Apparently, some crisis was brewing that required her presence. At first Cora was inclined to believe that this was a ploy on Edith's part to avoid the inevitable, but when _The Sketch_ called two more times while she was getting ready, Cora grudgingly accepted that whatever was going on in London, Edith needed to be there. In a way, Cora was slightly envious. To be needed in a crisis that didn't involve seating arrangements or pudding decisions must be empowering. Whatever the future held for Edith, Cora was certain it would not be ordinary.

Isis did indeed pass peacefully during the night. Although expected, Robert was inconsolable. The Earls of Grantham had had dogs since the title was created, and Isis was a favorite both upstairs and down. Sybbie and George were almost as upset as Robert, and asked repeated questions about heaven, and if Isis would like it there, and would Sybil and Matthew know her and play with her, and were there squirrels in heaven that Isis could chase. Cora couldn't help but smile when George voiced his concern for the celestial squirrels. Just like his father – champion of the underdog. Marigold watched the whole conversation from the lap of Nanny Miller, eyes wide, clutching her teddy.

It was almost luncheon before Cora had a spare moment, and even then it was taken up with the news of Rose's engagement. Atticus Aldridge had returned to Downton shortly after breakfast, eager to speak with Robert as Shrimpie was not available. And while they all loved Rose, Cora suspected that Robert was not entirely happy with being asked, yet again, to play the role of surrogate father. Rose's season in London had wound up costing the Crawleys a considerable sum. Although Shrimpie had provided funds, they had proved insufficient for the task, and Robert had made up the difference. The Marquess' fortunes had only declined further since then. What would this wedding cost them? Cora knew Shrimpie would be embarrassed to ask for help; Susan would have no such scruples.

Edith returned from London later than anticipated, leaving no time to change before dinner. As the Dowager was dining with Lady Shackleford, Edith was spared Violet's caustic observations on dress codes. Cora was relieved; there was enough tension in the air without her mother-in-law adding to it. Cora observed her daughter throughout the soup and fish course, and took note of how little Edith ate, pushing her food around her plate, eyes tired, worrying her bottom lip.

"How did you get on in London?" Tom was watching his sister-in-law closely. Maybe a little too closely for Edith's liking.

"Well enough."

"What was so urgent that they needed you there first thing? Did the fashion columnist have a sudden fit or something over the summer gloves?" Robert chuckled at his own little joke. Cora's glare went unnoticed by her husband.

"It was a bit more than that, Papa." Edith hesitated, unsure of how much she wanted to tell them. No so long ago, she yearned for her family to take an interest in her life. She did not welcome it now. "If you must know, a rival publication has made an offer to buy _The Sketch_. Quite a serious offer."

Robert looked slightly stunned. Mary offered her opinion at once. "Well, I think you should take it."

"Mary's right. Do you really want to spend your life as some Fleet Street hack? Better to rid yourself of the grief and aggravation now. I can help you invest the money."

"Or you could invest it here at Downton," Mary quickly cut in. "These new cottages won't come cheap. What better way do you have to help the family?"

"You may not be quite so eager when you know where the offer comes from." Edith was already regretting broaching the subject.

"Does that matter?" Rose was trying to follow the conversation.

She suppressed a sigh. "You tell me." Edith looked from Robert to Mary. "The offer was made by Richard Carlisle."

Dead silence fell upon the table. Edith noticed, with no small amount of satisfaction, that even Carson looked non-plussed. Mary recovered first.

"Sir Richard's money is as good as anyone else's. Better, perhaps, since it's all his own and not tied up in any estate. You'd be a fool not to consider it. And besides," Mary paused to giver her sister a meaningful look, "Richard Carlisle usually gets what he wants, one way or the other. Sell to him now, on your terms and at your price."

"You should know better than anyone that Richard Carlisle" Robert said the name like an expletive "sets his own terms. But I agree with Mary. Sell now, while you still can. Before you lose interest and it gets to be too much for you."

"What do your editors say, Edith?" Tom was a true brother, allowing his sister her voice.

"They're against it, whole-heartedly. They all agree that selling to Richard Carlisle, or anyone else for that matter, would be the end of _The Sketch_. Circulation is strong, and Carlisle just wants to take us out of competition. As a matter of fact, several staff members proposed the idea of a radio spot. Every indication is that radio is here to stay, and it would be something entirely new." Cora noticed how Edith's voice and countenance both took on an excitement and energy that was not often associated with her middle child. She was confident and, Cora mused, passionate; a woman in charge. She wore it well. Edith warmed to her topic. "We've done some preliminary studies and found that – "

"I think you'll find your editors are leading you down the garden path. If radio is indeed here to stay, which I very much doubt, then the magazine business will flounder eventually. No, the best thing for you to do is to sell out now." Finishing his pronouncement, Robert concentrated on his meringue. "Now, Rose, I suppose you'll want to wait until your parents return from India before making any arrangements?" The conversation was over. Edith returned to rearranging the food on her plate, her life now neatly arranged by her father.

How long, Cora wondered, had this been going on? How many times had her daughter been dismissed and silenced by her father, by all of them? Looking over at Edith, Cora felt a lump rise in her throat. Edith looked neither angry nor annoyed at her family's disinterest, not even particularly sad. Just resigned, as if she expected no better, and got what she expected. Cora felt tears threaten, along with a sense of shame; she had said nothing in defense of her daughter, had done nothing to stop Robert from steamrolling her. Cora resolved that this would change, starting tonight.

The family went through to the drawing room, but Edith excused herself shortly afterwards, saying she wanted to check on Marigold in the nursery, and then go on to bed. Cora stayed behind a while longer, listening to Rose and Mary make wedding plans. She found herself grateful for the years of etiquette classes and mindless society functions: Cora had completely mastered the art of feigning interest and enthusiasm on any topic. She waited until the appropriate amount of time had elapsed, then excused herself and went in search of Edith.

She found Edith at her dressing table in her room, getting ready for bed.

"Where's Madge?" The maid was not in the room, but Cora wished to be certain that she was alone with her daughter.

"I dismissed her early, said I would get myself ready for bed tonight. I wonder if she has and admirer – she's so distracted lately, and never seems to be around when I need her. She's practically invisible." Edith picked up her hairbrush.

Cora released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. She had half-expected to find Edith in bed with the door bolted, claiming fatigue or a headache or some other reason to postpone their discussion, especially after what happened at dinner. But Edith seemed relaxed, almost eager to talk. Cora watched as Edith ran the brush through her hair. "Here, let me do that." Edith looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Please?" She held out the brush to her mother.

"Did Marigold have a good day?" Cora had forgotten how soft her daughter's hair was. She felt the strands run through her fingers.

"She did.: Edith's face glowed with pleasure at the good report of her little girl. "Nanny said she did very well today. Sybbie was fussing over her like a mother hen, and George is just so sweet. Just like Matthew." _And so unlike Mary._ Cora let the unspoken observation pass.

"I believe Marigold will be just fine. Children are more resilient than we give them credit for." Cora continued to brush Edith's hair, becoming entranced by the variations of color among the gently curling locks. Shades of gold, flaxen, amber and copper played in the soft light.

"Do you really think so, Mama? I just love her so much, I couldn't bear to see her unhappy. I don't want her ever to doubt how much I love her, how much her father would have loved her." Edith glanced at her mother in the mirror, quickly lowering her eyes.

Cora paused mid-stroke, cold astonishment washing over her. "What are you saying? That your father and I don't love you?" The idea was ludicrous. And smacked of self-pity. "Really, Edith…"

Edith turned to face her mother. Her reply was careful, measured, almost detached. Like she was relaying instructions to one of her editors. "I know you and Papa love me but…" Edith paused, deciding how best to proceed, "…but, especially as a child, I never felt that you loved me quite as much as you loved Mary or Sybil. I know. I know that's silly," Edith saw her mother ready to interrupt, "but it wasn't silly to me. It was as if I never quite measured up, that I was somehow a disappointment to you both." Edith stopped, unsure if she should continue.

"Go on."

"I was never pretty or graceful like Mary, or sweet and cheerful like Sybil. My school grades were good, very good in fact, but that didn't matter when I was awkward on the dance floor or couldn't make small talk. And sometimes it seemed that the harder I tried the more mistakes I made. You would always tell me that I was helpful, which is rather like being told that you're the prettiest gorilla in the zoo. Not quite the compliment a young woman wants to hear at her coming-out." Edith smiled ruefully at her mother.

Cora wanted to stop Edith from saying anything more. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her and demand an apology for such ridiculous feelings. She wanted to march out of the room, slam the door behind her, leave Edith alone to come to her senses and stop talking nonsense. Cora wanted to do all these things, but she didn't.

" _What about poor old Edith? We never seem to talk about her."_

" _You mustn't be unkind to your sister. She has fewer advantages than you."_

Because Edith was right.


End file.
